


Noah Puckerman and the Case of the Bi-coastal Cockblocking

by raving_liberal



Series: Finn and Puck's Excellent L.A. Adventures [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: Chicken & Waffles, Divorce, M/M, Phone Calls & Telephones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-05-22
Packaged: 2017-12-12 16:25:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/813591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raving_liberal/pseuds/raving_liberal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Puck only needed Finn to talk to one person on the phone, but now the phone won't stop ringing and Finn won't stop answering.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Noah Puckerman and the Case of the Bi-coastal Cockblocking

In terms of first kisses, it’s not exactly the deepest or the wildest kiss Puck has ever given anybody. It’s barely a kiss, even, more like a soft graze of their lips against each other’s, and then Puck pulls back and says, “I’m starving. You want to go get breakfast?”

Finn looks surprised, like maybe he was expecting Puck to just throw him down on the mattress or something like that. Not that Puck didn’t spend a few seconds considering it, because gift horse-mouth and all of that, but Finn just showing up out of the blue like this, no matter what kind of advice Kurt gave him, probably requires a little more conversation.

“Yeah, there’s this place a couple blocks away, best waffles you’re ever gonna eat,” Puck says. “Come on.”

Puck stands, holding a hand out for Finn to take and helping to haul his heavy ass onto his feet. Finn’s clothes are rumpled. His hair sticks up from his head at a half-a-dozen different angles, none of them all that flattering. He looks like he hasn't shaved for at least two days. He smells like somebody who just flew across the country in the middle of the night and then passed out in a bed on the floor for hours. All in all, Puck can’t think of a time that Finn’s looked better.

“Can’t be better than that little place up in Bluffton,” Finn says. He tries to smooth his wrinkled clothes, and Puck just shakes his head at him.

“Trust me, it’s better,” Puck says. "You've never had waffles until you've had west coast waffles, dude."

“Do they have the kind with chicken?” Finn asks.

“If that’s what you’re after. Roscoe’s is too far to go, but I think Wednesday’s is better anyway,” Puck says.

Finn’s waffle-related smile falls. “Oh, shit. It’s Monday, isn’t it? Are they gonna be open?”

Puck chuckles and shakes his head again. “I’m letting that slide because I’m pretty sure you haven’t eaten in the last twenty-four hours and you look like shit.”

“Hey!” Finn says, but it’s not much of a protest.

“Waffles, Finn,” Puck says. He looks down at his hand, which is still holding Finn’s, and debates letting go. Then he decides fuck it, the dude just took the red eye from New York to Los Angeles for Puck, so what’s a little hand-holding? He keeps on holding Finn’s hand down to the car, dropping it to walk around to the driver’s side, because hand-holding’s one thing, but there’s no fucking way Puck’s going to start opening doors or anything. Not yet, anyway.

Shit, this whole this is really messing with Puck’s world view. They both need waffles, STAT.

Wednesday’s is open, which makes Finn overexcited–beagle–happy. Puck gets his usual double waffle with scrambled eggs and sausage. Finn gets two orders of chicken and waffles, plus a side of smothered potatoes with gravy and a slice of pie, because as he puts it, “I haven’t eaten since three time zones ago, dude!”

Puck just shakes his head. “Dude, I’ve known you since you were six. You’ve always eaten like that. Poor time zones, getting all the blame.”

Finn shrugs and crams another bite of waffle into his already full mouth, so his cheeks puff up like a chipmunk’s. It’s kind of cute, in a gross way, and yeah, Puck acknowledges that’s a stream of thought that might indicate he’s got it bad. That kind of bad requires the ironing out of key details, though, so Puck lets Finn get through his first plate of waffles and chicken before he lays into him about the serious stuff.

"This is even better than I thought it would be," Finn says, spraying waffle bits as he talks, and Puck groans.

"Hey, jackass. Swallow before you talk, will ya?" Puck complains. Finn just smiles back at him with waffle-stuffed cheeks again. "So, you never said what Rachel said about all this."

Finn stops chewing, sputtering and turning bright red as he starts to choke on his waffle. Puck leans across the table and pounds Finn on the back a few times, hard, and Finn coughs a mouthful of chewed up waffle onto the table.

"Oh, dude," Puck says, turning his face away from the table, but still keeping a close eye on Finn. "That's disgusting." He passes Finn a glass of water.

Finn gulps the water down in a few swallows. As he sets the glass down, his glances up at Puck, then away again.

"What?" Puck asks. "Did you cough your waffle on me or something?"

"No," Finn answers, shaking his head slowly. "I just. Uh. Didn't really tell her all of it."

"Didn't tell her which part, exactly?" Puck asks.

"Any of it?" Finn offers sheepishly. He gives Puck a tentative smile.

"Finn! Did she even know you were leaving?" Puck demands.

"She probably does by now," Finn says. The tentative smiles widens into the big, goofy don’t–get–mad–at–me smile Finn used to use on Carole when he’d do stupid shit like put a baseball through a window or spraypaint the neighbor’s cat hot pink— which, to be fair, kind of was Puck’s idea. 

Puck groans again and lets his head thunk forward onto the table next to Finn's disgusting plate. "Fuck, Finn. That is not cool!"

"I didn't know what to do! I didn't want to upset her!"

"Dude," Puck mutters. "You snuck out under the cover of night, and I'm guessing you haven't called." Finn shakes his head. "Yeah, I'm betting she's pretty goddamn upset by now."

"So what do we do?" Finn asks.

" _We_ don't do shit. _I_ pay for your fucking half-puked waffles and _you_ call your fucking wife and apologize for being too chicken shit to tell her how you feel." Puck flags down their waitress. “We need the bill and another slice of pie to go.”

“What, you mean just, like... call her? _Now?_ ” Finn asks.

“No, you should send her a fucking telegram,” Puck says, caught between the desire to roll his eyes and laugh at the incredulous look on Finn’s face. “No, wait, even better. Pony express. 'Cause best thing to do is stall as long as possible."

The waitress drops off the bill and a small to-go box. Puck takes his pie, leaves cash for the bill, plus enough to hopefully apologize for Finn’s waffle mess, and stands to walk back out to the car. Finn follows along behind him, still looking confused. 

“Can I call her from the car?” Finn asks.

“Nope. Your wife, your private conversation,” Puck answers.

“I don’t mind if you hear it.”

“Yeah, but _I_ mind if I hear it, dumbass. You can wait until we’re back at my place.”

Finn opens his mouth like he’s about to argue, but Puck raises an eyebrow at Finn to remind him not to start any shit with Puck right now. Instead, Finn takes out his phone and scrolls through some menu thing, voicemail maybe.

“Oh, wow. I have a lot of missed calls,” Finn says.

“Are they all from Rachel?” Puck asks him.

“The first couple dozen,” Finn says. “Then there’s some from Mom, a couple from Burt, and, oh hey, Kurt called me a few times, too. Shit, do you think they’re all worried about me?”

“Probably were at first, at least,” Puck says. “That’s kind of a shitty thing to do to Carole, too, by the way. You know Rachel called her all freaked out. I bet they were calling hospitals thinking you’d hit your head and wandered off or some shit like that.”

“Hey! That was _one time_!”

Puck snorts. “Anyway, probably all gonna come down to whether Kurt told them anything, and I’m guessing that could go either way. On the one hand, I know he wouldn’t want Rachel, Carole, and Burt to worry, but on the other hand, Kurt’s probably not down with telling people you ran off with a dude.”

“ _To_ a dude,” Finn says.

“Right. _To_ a dude,” Puck says. “And seriously, you should give people a heads up if you’re planning something like that, dumbass. What if I’d been out?”

“But you weren’t,” Finn says.

“I could’ve been. I could’ve been on a date or something.”

“But you weren’t.”

“But I _could_ have.”

Finn nods. “Okay. Next time I run away from New York to LA, I’ll call you first. I promise.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Puck laughs. “You’d better. And don’t think this gets you out of calling Rachel, dude. You don’t just disappear on people like that.”

“I’ll call her,” Finn says. He sighs and sinks down in the passenger seat as much as a guy Finn’s size can sink down in a car this size. 

"Yeah, you will," Puck agrees. He parks in the little lot for his apartment, then turns to Finn. "Call her and make it right. You know where to find me after."

Finn nods in agreement, not meeting Puck's eyes. Puck huffs in frustration and leans over, pressing a light kiss to Finn's cheek. 

"Hey," Puck says softly. "I said, you know where to find me after. That means you'd better come up and find me after, you got it?"

Finn nods again. "Yeah."

"Finn," Puck says. "Seriously. I want you to find me after."

Finn's serious-worried face softens into a crooked smile. "Okay. I'll come find you after and we'll figure out what comes next."

"Damn straight we will," Puck agrees. He gets out of the car before he changes his mind and tells Finn to nevermind calling Rachel and just come right up to Puck's apartment and kiss him more.

Once Puck is back in his apartment, time starts moving slower than he thinks it has a right to. He tries to speed it up by cleaning up around the apartment, but since he barely has any furniture, it doesn't take him long to get everything to rights. Puck washes his one coffee cup, making a mental note to buy it a buddy and possibly a bigger coffee pot, then he catches himself grinning over the sink like an idiot because of what a second coffee cup means. Finn's here. He's _here_ , Rachel complications notwithstanding. Finn chose Puck; he chose Puck so hard that he took a red eye to LA with a duffel bag full of his shit. Puck's been with a lot of women, but not a one of them ever chose him like Finn did, and doesn't that just tell him something?

Puck hears Finn's footsteps coming down the hallway, so he makes a point of busying himself with drying the lone coffee mug. He's not exactly prepared for Finn to come in with his arm outstretched, phone still in hand.

"Rachel wants to talk to you," Finn says, quietly mouthing, "Sorry."

"Hey?" Puck says hesitantly into the phone.

"Hello, Noah," Rachel says. She sound sniffly, which tugs at Puck's heart and makes him feel like sort of a heel for being happy at her expense. "I trust you're doing well in California?"

"Can't complain," Puck says. "What's up?"

"Is it true?" Rachel asks.

"Uh. What, specifically?"

"Did Finn... Are you the reason he flew to Los Angeles?" Rachel asks. Her voice shakes slightly.

"Yeah," Puck confesses. "I didn't realize he was gonna do that, but that's what he did."

"So it's really not another woman?" Rachel asks, with an even louder sniffle.

"Rachel Berry, I swear to our mutual Jewish God that Finn came out here for me, and not another woman," Puck says. 

"Okay, then," Rachel says. Her voice seems a little lighter and brighter. "I'm the last person who would try to stand in the ways of someone's voyage of self discovery." She sniffles softly one more time. "I do wish the two of you had figured this out before Finn and I got married."

"Yeah," Puck agrees. "I do, too. I'm sorry about this. For what it's worth, I think he really does love you."

"Just not in the same way he loves you," Rachel says. “I always thought it was Quinn I was competing with, but it wasn’t, was it? It was you.”

“I don’t know about that,” Puck says. He doesn’t. He’d like to think it’s true, but he can’t know it for sure. All Puck knows is that he always felt like he was competing with Quinn and Rachel for Finn’s attention. “I think it might have been like that for me, though.”

“Noah...” 

“Don’t,” Puck tells her. “I just stole your husband, right? I’m the one who’s supposed to pity _you_. Don’t try to two-way pity street me, Berry.”

Rachel laughs, sounding genuinely amused, which goes a little way towards squashing Puck’s guilt. “I told Finn we can just call this a starter marriage and move forward without bitterness. I even mostly meant it.”

“You’re grade-A classy, Rachel,” Puck says. “Seriously.”

“It’s my star quality,” Rachel agrees. “I’m faxing papers to the copy store down the street from you, if the address Finn gave me is even close to correct. You _are_ near Orange Street Copy?” 

“Close enough,” Puck says. He isn’t, really, but god only know what address Finn had given her, and no need to make it more work for Rachel than it has to be, what with the husband-stealing and all. “Thanks, Rachel. For everything.”

“Just take care of him. And don’t let him drink coffee after four, or he’ll be up all night,” Rachel says. “And make him take his vitamins. I don’t think he gets enough calcium, and he has such big bones.”

“Got it,” Puck says. “You take care of yourself.”

“I will,” Rachel promises. “Tell Finn I wish him the best. I think it’s easier for both of us if we end it without another exchange.”

“Probably. He’d probably just get maudlin, the big schmuck,” Puck laughs.

“Good-bye, Noah,” Rachel says quietly, as Puck is still laughing, and then he hears the empty air sound of the call disconnecting.

Puck looks around the apartment for Finn, but he’s persona non find-a. “Hey, jackass!” Puck calls. “Where’d you go?”

Finn pokes his head out of the bathroom. “Did it go alright?”

“No. I promised I’d put you on the first flight back to New York so she can enroll you in a deprogramming program,” Puck deadpans.

“Hey!” Finn protests. “That’s not funny.”

“It’s fucking _hilarious_ , and you know it.”

Finn tries to keep looking indignant, but he fails pretty miserably and grins at Puck instead. “Yeah, it is.”

“So, are you coming out or what?” Puck asks. 

Finn makes a funny double-take head movement, eyes wide. “Like, in general?” 

“Of the bathroom, fuckwit,” Puck says.

“Oh,” Finn says. “In that case, yeah.” He emerges from the bathroom, dumb grin widening even more, and comes over to stand next to Puck.

“What are you looking at me like that for?” Puck asks him.

“Like what?”

“Like... all expectant-like!"

“Well, I guess I kinda figured you knew what’s next,” Finn says, shrugging. “Like what I’m supposed to do now.”

"Fuck if I know," Puck confesses. Erring on the side of truth is probably for the best here. "I mean, at some point we have to figure out where that printer is and get your divorce papers, since I think it's kinda nowhere near here."

"Oops," says Finn.

"Yeah. Oops," Puck agrees. He sits down in the edge of his mattress, the sheets still all tangled and messed up from both of them crashing there earlier, and scratches his head while he tries to process it all. "Well, shit. Here you are."

"Here I am," Finn says. "Wondering now what?"

"Well," Puck says slowly. "For lack of any other better ideas, how about you come over here and we'll fool around a little."

"Yeah?" Finn asks, the eager-puppy grin back on his face in a big way.

"I find it helps clear my head."

Finn crosses the room in long steps that could almost be considered bounds, and as he sits down next to Puck on the mattress, Puck finds his arm going around Finn with no hesitancy. They stare at each other for a few seconds before Finn moves his face forward, giving Puck no other choice but to just go on and kiss him like he'd been wanting to.

Finn, for all his size and seemingly boundless energy, melts into the kiss like it's the best, hottest thing he's ever done. His lips and tongue still taste faintly of maple syrup, Puck notes as Finn's tongue moves against his. Puck leans back, his arm still hooked around Finn's neck, and both of them go crashing back against the mattress. To Finn's credit, he doesn't break the kiss, and as soon as Puck is lying underneath him on the mattress, Finn starts running his hand along Puck's side, sliding it up under Puck's shirt.

Puck rolls his hips, grinding up against Finn, both of them already rock hard through their jeans. Finn nudges one of his ridiculously long legs between Puck’s, his thigh pressing up against Puck’s dick. Puck groans, grips the front of Finn’s shirt to hold him there, then yanks the shirt up, pulling it over Finn’s head and dropping it somewhere on the floor. Puck shoves his hands in between his body and Finn’s to reach the front of Finn’s jeans, and he’s only just gotten the button undone and has the zipper tab in his hand when Finn’s phone starts ringing.

Finn stops kissing Puck and raises his head, a confused look on his face and his eyes kind of glazed over. Puck moves his hands up to Finn’s face and grabs it on both sides.

“Don’t answer it,” Puck says, or kind of whines, really. 

“But it’s ringing,” Finn says.

“Don’t fucking answer it, Finn.”

“But that’s Kurt’s ringtone.”

“I don’t care if it’s the President of the United States, don’t fucking answer it,” Puck says, but Finn is already pushing himself up and off of Puck, standing up to cross the room and answer the phone. 

“Hello?” Finn says into the phone. 

“Your brother is a fucking _cockblocker_ ,” Puck hollers.

Finn puts his hand over the bottom two-thirds of the phone as he pulls it away from his ear. “Kurt says hi,” he whispers.

“Fuck off in a fire, Kurt!” Puck replies almost cheerfully. “In a great big fucking bonfire!”

Finn puts the phone back to his ear. “Puck says hi.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s exactly what I said,” Puck grumbles. He stands up and drags his sorry ass into the kitchenette and starts opening cabinets. “I know I’ve got some kind of booze in here somewhere.”

“Kurt wants to talk to you!” Finn calls out.

Puck throws his arms up into the air in pure exasperation. “Of course he does! Everybody wants to fucking talk to me today!” Finn holds the phone out expectantly, so Puck takes it, and says, “What do you want, Kurt?”

“Good afternoon to you, too, Puck,” Kurt replies.

“I was kinda in the middle of something here,” Puck says. “Can it wait?”

“This won’t be a long conversation,” Kurt says. Puck can almost see the dismissive hand-wavey-flappy thing Kurt does. 

“Fine. So what’s up?”

“I didn’t tell him to run away to Los Angeles,” Kurt explains. “Just so you’re aware.”

“Didn’t think you had,” Puck says.

“Not that I’m not supportive of him finding himself or exploring the relationships that will make him happy,” Kurt continues. “I am. I’m happy for him. I just don’t want you to think I encouraged him to leave his wife and run away across the country.”

“It’s cool, Kurt, seriously. And I already talked to Rachel. We both already talked to Rachel.”

“Yes, she wasn’t very happy,” Kurt says. 

“She’ll be okay,” Puck says. 

“Of that, I have no doubt,” Kurt agrees. “And while I don’t support Finn’s choice to take off without warning, I also have no doubt that he’s happy with his choice.”

“Okay,” Puck says slowly. “So, why’d you need to talk to me?”

“I just want to make sure you’re on the same page he is. I know his feelings are genuine, but I don’t know if you feel the same for him that he does for you,” Kurt says. “I don’t want to see him get hurt.”

“Wait,” Puck asks. “Is this the ‘hurt my brother and I’ll kill you’ talk?”

Kurt laughs. “I guess so. Hurt my brother and I’ll kill you, Puck.”

“No promises,” Puck says, “but I’ll do my best, alright?”

“I suppose that will have to do.”

“You need Finn back?” Puck asks. “‘Cause, like I said, we were in the middle of something.”

“I don’t want to interrupt you any more than necessary,” Kurt says quickly. 

“If you want, I can go into explicit detail about what—”

“I’ll call him later!” Kurt squawks, ending the call. 

Puck grins at Finn as he tosses the phone onto a pile of laundry. “Kurt’ll call you back later.”

“Cool,” Finn says. He reaches for Puck and catches him by the belt loops, pulling him close. “Now, where were w—”

Finn’s words are cut off when the phone begins to chime again, in a different pattern this time. Puck groans and puts his hand up to his head. 

“No,” Puck says.

“It’s my mom.”

“Can’t these people just leave a fucking _voicemail_?”

“It’ll just take a second!” Finn promises, releasing Puck’s jeans and leaning over to pick up the phone. “Hello?”

Puck can hear Carole’s voice coming through the phone, sharp and loud, and he lets himself fall backwards onto his mattress. “Whole family full of cockblockers,” he complains as Finn starts trying to explain to Carole what he’s doing out in Los Angeles and why, exactly, he didn’t call his mother to let her know he was _alive_ , for god’s sake, and what was he thinking?

“But mo— No, I didn’t, but if you’d just—” Finn looks over at Puck frantically. “Here!” Finn says. “Talk to Puck!”

“I’m gonna murder you in your sleep, loverboy,” Puck says, pointing his finger at Finn. He accepts the phone and puts it gingerly up to his ear. “Hey, Mrs. H.”

“Noah, what on _earth_ is going on out there!” Carole asks. “Rachel says she and Finn are separating amicably, Kurt seems to know what’s going on, but refuses to tell us anything, and I have no idea what Finn was talking about, because it didn’t make any sense.”

“Yeah, well, that’s Finn for ya, right?” Puck says. “He’s fine, though. Seriously. I talked to Rachel myself and she’s fine. I talked to Kurt, too, and _he’s_ fine. I’m fine, we’re all just fine.”

“What’s he planning on doing with himself out there?” Carole asks. Puck’s fairly sure that ‘having lots of sex with me’ isn’t the answer Carole is looking for, and he’s not even positive that’s Finn’s plans, since kissing doesn’t necessarily escalate into anything else. 

“He’s gonna help me run my pool business,” Puck says. It’s the truth, anyway. “I have way more clients than I can handle now, and I’d been trying to talk him into moving out here for ages. I guess he finally decided to do it.”

"But out of the blue like that?" Carole’s hand-wringing is practically audible through the phone. "I'm just worried he hasn't thought this out."

"He seems like he knows what he's doing," Puck says. He looks over at Finn, who for some reason give him a double thumbs-up. "He said he'd been giving it careful consideration for a while."

Carole _tsk_ s. "Noah, you and I both know Finn's never used the phrase 'careful consideration' in his life."

"Busted," Puck admits. "Okay, I think it was more like he said he'd been thinking about it a lot and finally just did it."

"Now that sounds more like my Finn," Carole laughs. "I'm so sorry things didn't work out with him and Rachel, though to be honest I guess I was a little surprised they went through with that wedding to begin with."

"You and me both, Mrs. H," Puck agrees. 

"You'll look after him and let me know if he gets himself in any trouble?" 

Puck has to swallow a little guilt-bubble that's trying to rise up on him, because his plan was actually to help Finn get into some excellent trouble. "I'll keep him out of jail and out of the hospital," Puck promises, because that much is true, at least.

"Thank you, Noah," Carole says. "Pass me back to Finn now?"

"You got it," Puck says, handing the phone off to Finn. Puck watches Finn's goofy face go through about ten different expressions while he talks to his mom. Or listens to his mom, anyway, because mostly he just nods and says "uh huh" a bunch. Finally, Finn ends the call, at which point Puck plucks the phone out of his hand, flips it to mute, and tosses it right back into the pile of laundry. 

"Nobody else to call," Puck says firmly. "If Burt or the Berrys or anybody else feels like they need to talk to you, they can leave a goddamn voicemail."

“Oh yeah?” Finn asks.

“Yeah,” Puck replies. This time, he’s the one who catches Finn by his belt loops and reels him in. “So, are you gonna kiss me or what?”

Finn moves his face close to Puck’s. Their noses bump together awkwardly once before Puck tilts his head to the left a little more. “Was ‘or what’ even an option?” Finn asks, then pulls Puck up into a hard kiss, nothing tentative about it.


End file.
